


Colour wheel

by Prawnperson



Category: Don’t Starve (Video Game)
Genre: ? Is that a thing?, Angst, F/M, Heavy Angst, I’m not tagging the others, Poor everyone involved, glitch gore, poor WX, poor Wagstaff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2020-09-01 17:27:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20261803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prawnperson/pseuds/Prawnperson
Summary: Bright, gaudy colours that flash and snap and burn.





	Colour wheel

The survivors trek through the heady mess that is the Constant at present. Eyes wide, constantly taking in the warped wreck around them. They can see the throne room through gaps in the world. It’s torn like a piece of fabric. Wilson finds, after a brief series of testing-poking his spear in and out of one of the ‘entrances’ to the throne room-that he isn’t sucked in and trapped in the darkened halls of the throne room without any hope of escape. The constant and the throne room are no longer two separate places. The world is so broken that any and all distinction between the two has been ripped to tatters.

They step through, a group of foot steps not serving to make the hollow echoes of the hallways seem any more inviting. The torches light up gradually, Webber, Wendy and Wormwood packed into the centre of the group in an attempt to shield them from the chilling darkness.

WX-78 is clinging to Walani’s hand as they walk. They can feel almost painful shivers run up their back, and there’s a heavy feeling in the bottom of their chest.

“I’M...I’M SCARED, WALANI.”

They whisper. Walani almost doesn’t here it over the quiet but overbearing chatter from the others. She nods her head and squeezes their joined hands tighter, but doesn’t have time to say anything as they approach the throne itself.

The closer the survivors get, the louder the sound of static gets, laced with distorted noises of pain and exertion. The throne is quaking, flashing in fragments of every colour, and it’s painful to look at. Wilson, head of the group, shields his eyes with his hands. The others quickly follow suit as the splitting headache sets in from looking at the nightmarish technicolour.

All except WX-78.

They stumble forwards awkwardly and simply stare at the imagine in front of them. Even with their camera like gaze, it’s hard to focus. They can barely make out the hunched and straining figure in the middle of the blur of blinding colour. They feel too small. Too uncertain. This wasn’t ever meant to happen again.

“H-hello?”

The others hear a crackling feedback along with the echoed speech from the imprisoned inventor before them. There’s a cringe inducing shriek as if nails are being scraped down a chalkboard, and another reverberation within the cavernous throne room.

“I-I’m terribly sor-sorry to be leav-ving you all. Especially my-my creation-on.”

There’s a pierce of noise and white light.

“I’m afraid-afraid I must-must ask you to g-g-go.”

The piercing noise grows deafeningly loud, sets the survivor’s ears ringing.

“Goodbye.”

———

The survivors end up in the exact same formation back at base, seemingly unmoved from their place in the throne room. WX lets out a grating metallic sob, and nobody bothers to ask whenever they make their way towards their tent with Walani in tow.

They go about their business instead.

———

“There’s nothing you can do.”

Walani states, letting WX curl up against her side like a frightened little child.

“I KNOW THAT...”

There’s a beat of silence before she feels cool metallic arms wrap around her middle.

“WALANI?”

“Yes?”

“I DON’T WANT TO GO.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is winding up now


End file.
